Pretty Reckless (All Saints High #1)(66)

“Turn around.” I change the subject.

“That seems to be your favorite position of me.” Daria sighs, still spinning in place. She is wrong. I can look at her face all fucking day. I wish it were a legit job so I could make money doing it. I would put in all the extra hours and become a billionaire within a year.

(The math doesn’t add up, by the way, so don’t try to do it.)

I collect her blond locks and let them fall on her right shoulder, then kiss her nape. I produce the sea glass necklace from my pocket and put it on her.

She gasps when the orange sea glass hits her delicate rib cage, and her chest caves.

Daria twists back to me with tears in her eyes. I can’t bear her vulnerability because it seems real, and I can’t think of her as real. Even if she is genuine, this can never work out. Even if I don’t give a damn about what Jaime and Mel think, Daria does although she would die denying it. And her parents will never be okay with us being together. Not to mention the hell Via is going to give me. But before all of this can even materialize, there is also the Adriana and Principal Prichard mess to sort out, and nothing promises me that Daria won’t get cold feet about telling her precious rich friends she’s dating the token charity case.

Every single time I’d take her out, I’d pay for the bill with her daddy’s allowance. I won’t be getting any money of my own before I play college football, and when I do, who knows where Daria will be? We’ve never talked about it. I’ll go wherever I’m offered a full scholarship.

The world is wide-open for her. She can go to the East Coast, or Midwest, or fucking Europe.

My world, however, is narrow-pathed and dingy. I don’t believe in fairy tales. I think Shakespeare got it right. When two people try to go against the grain, they get fucked up. End of story.

“Skull Eyes,” I whisper. She links her arms around my neck and rises on her toes to kiss me.

“I felt so lonely without it,” she whispers into my mouth.

“It felt so lonely without you,” I admit.

“Are we still talking about the necklace?”

We both laugh, but it dies down quickly. Our lips find each other as if they were programmed to do so. We kiss for so long my lips burn and crack at the edges. There’s a desperation in that kiss that wasn’t there before. It feels like goodbye, and I don’t like how it tastes. I pull away, wanting a redo. I also want to tell her to stop seeing Prichard. That it’s time to cut all the background noise. I still don’t know what to do with Adriana, or with Daria’s parents, or with my fucking life, but I’ve always been good at figuring shit out as I go along.

The minute I open my mouth, a scream of horror explodes from my right. Both Daria and I whip our heads, and it’s Via, standing in front of us, cupping her mouth.

My twin sister pivots on her heel and runs away, and I go after her. It’s an instinct more than anything because last time she did it, Rhett stopped me.

This time, nothing will.

I tackle Via to the grass by the pool, and we both slide on the damp blades. She squirms underneath me, yelping. Me, wet, freshly cut grass, and Friday night lights are where I thrive. I rise from her, pulling at her arm to stand and holding her elbow as I drag her all the way into the house. She protests between sobs, and I have a feeling she is too deranged to think clearly right now.

Once I enter the empty house—that’s in an advanced stage of trashed—I direct her to her room downstairs. I’m momentarily disoriented by all the pink Melody put in there. Someone needs to sit her ass down and tell her not everything feminine and teenager-y needs to look like a pussy. I throw Via over a beanbag and square my shoulders.

“Look,” I say with a calm I don’t feel. “It is what it is.”

Even I acknowledge the lameness of the explanation. Not that it makes it any less true. If she is freaked out about Daria and me exchanging juices, she’s about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable.

“Are you dating her?” Her eyes are sparkling red. Her whole face is a mess.

I knead my forehead, giving it some genuine thought. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What about Adriana and the baby?”

“They have nothing to do with this.” I pause. “Wait, how do you know about Harper?”

I guess it makes sense that she does, but I’m still mad she found out like this. I’m mad that we didn’t get the chance to discuss it. That we’re not who we’re supposed to be to one another.

She looks down, pouting. Then it hits me. She wrote to Addy. She kept in touch with Addy. This shit is unreal. I knew Via was mad at me, whether she admits it or not, but then something dawns on me. Something that gives my tin man, half-functioning heart a reason to break.

She didn’t come back for me.

“Does Adriana know?” she asks between sniffs.

My story with Addy goes back to age five. We grew up in the same neighborhood. Via and I used to sneak into her house every time the smell of her mom’s pozole and Spanish rice was too much for us. We begged for food, and Addy’s mother took mercy on us. And I returned it with a very unwelcome favor in the form of knocking Adriana up. At least, that’s the version I’m sticking to.

“She knows,” I drawl. After what happened at Lenny’s, Adriana started asking questions. She’s used to my messing around with other chicks, but it was never serious and never got to a point where anyone has threatened her place.